My first police ride

I was a special kid.

No, seriously, I was a special ed kid. I was put in the special education classes from the first grade onward. I was emotional and wacky and noisy and all the things that make adults say "well, isn't he... special."

Because of this I moved schools a lot. Like, every year a lot. So it was really hard for me to make and keep any friends because we wouldn't be at the same school from year to year, sometimes even semester to semester. So I was left to my own imagination often and I had a talent for running wild. 

Being that my brother was the only consistent kid my age that I hung out with it was really hard for me to make friends. I was too much for many, too weird for others, too gay for the cool kids and way to much to handle for the teachers. The only other consistent friend I had in childhood was Joey, my moms' best friends kid and while the three of us hung out often it was nowhere near enough for a kid with an overactive imagination. 

Also, being in the special ed classes kept me pretty segregated from the regular kids in school. They all knew who the special ed kids were, and they treated us all as kids do. With cruelty. When Josh and I reached Junior High it was the first time we were ever in the same school at the same time and to say that made things harder at home with my only friend would be a major understatement. 

At that point, though he was a year ahead of me, Josh failed and had to repeat 7th grade. Which put us in the same grade, at the same school. This was the first time he got to see up close how the "special ed" kids were treated. That just made things worse. Josh was already having issues at school and was struggling to keep his head afloat, seeing me get bullied every day only made things worse for him.

I didn't make it easier by trying way too hard. I really wanted to be liked, and normal. I remember stealing money from my parents several times that first year of junior high so that I could go to the general store near the bus stop before school and buy a bunch of candy that I could give out at school to bride people to be my friend. Obviously that didn't work as intended as kids would come up to me all nice and ask for a piece of candy and when I would give it to them they would call me fag, or retard or other fun childhood nicknames. 

This was the way of things during that year and a half that I went to Evergreen Jr. High. 

I only ever made one friend that I remember during those rough years. And boy did that make my mom mad. Not that I made a friend, but the friend that I made. His name was Jeremy West and he was in the special ed classes with me. This was back in the days when if you weren't 100% normal, you probably belonged in special ed. I had an imagination and was gay, therefore emotionally challenged. Jeremy was the first kid I met that had a reputation so he was there too. 

He was a troublemaker, an agitator, a wild card and I was taken in immediately. I had a wild imagination and he had a wild sense of adventure and was down for anything. We spent every lunch together and hung out together waiting for the busses after school. 

One afternoon he and I had gotten out of class a little early and for some reason I don't think Josh was in school that day. I think that because I had no qualms missing my school bus with Jeremy and walking the three or so miles to his house in Evergreen. I don't remember where exactly it was, but I remember it took us about an hour to walk there from school. 

My mom and dad worked during the day in Denver, around a 45 min drive from home and they wouldn't be home until after 5pm anyway, so I figured I had a couple hours to kill before I needed to be home. So, to Jeremy's we went. His mom also worked so we just hung out by ourselves watching tv, playing games, him showing me his collection of toys stuff that would only fascinate young boys. 

There wasn't anything special about that day, or what we did. We just went to his place to hang out. Well, by the time I thought to look out the window it was full dark out. Hours had passed and it was already almost 7pm and I hadn't even called home yet. I freaked out a little bit about how much trouble I was going to be in as I picked up the phone to call home. 

Mom answered on the first ring and she sounded panicked. I was four hours past due and she had no idea where I was or if I was living or dead. She had started to worry at 4pm when I should have been home 30 minutes prior and called her, but didn't. She waited until 4:30 before telling her boss she had to go because her youngest was no where to be found.

She came home, called the school who told her I had been in school all day. She called the local police to see if I had been picked up. She called the closest hospital to see if I had been hurt. With every call coming up with zero she was getting more and more panicked by the minute. By the time I called she was in full blown emergency mode and was fluctuating between extreme relief and flaming anger for making her worry like I did. 

I told her sorry and that I just walked over to my friends house after school and lost track of time while playing at his place. She tried to calm down while asking for Jeremy's address so she could come get me. We gave it to her and she said she'd be there within 30 minutes to pick me up. So after I hung up Jeremy and I went back to playing. 

A little while later Jeremy went to the window and looked outside with a questioning look. I joined him at the window to try and see what he was looking at. It was pitch dark outside but we could hear someone making a commotion somewhere nearby. Remember, this was in the mountains so while you could still see the house nextdoor there was a good bit of distance between the houses. So we could see that someone was knocking at his neighbors door, we couldn't see who it was.

We looked at each other and Jeremy said "looks like someones girlfriend is pissed". I nodded and looked down Jeremy's driveway wondering how long it would take my mom to get there. Eventually the neighbors visitor left and we went back to playing whatever we were playing. And I continued waiting for my mom to arrive. 

Around 8:15 there comes a knock on Jeremy's front door. I jump up thinking my mom finally found the place and start gathering my backpack. Jeremy goes to the front door and opens it up only to be met with a full grown armed and intimidating police officer. 

"Hello Jeremy, and you must be Shane." he said. "Your mom is pretty worried about you. Is there any reason you didn't want to go home?"

"No" I said "I'm just waiting for my mom to get here and pick me up." I said

"Then why didn't you answer when she came and knocked?" He asked.

"What are you talking about, she hasn't shown up yet, we've been sitting here waiting for her."

"She said she came and knocked on the door and shouted for you and you just hid in the dark ignoring her. She went home and called us and asked us to come and get you."

Jeremy and I looked at each other confused and simultaneously we both realized that the person banging on his neighbors door had been my mother. Our eyes widened as we both realized and the police officer registered this and asked us about it. We explained that we had seen someone knocking at the neighbors but didn't realize it was my mom. Remember, this is in the mountains where streetlights don't exist. 

He told me to gather up my belongings and that he would take me home now. I did and said goodbye to Jeremy, told him I'd see him in school tomorrow. The officer and I walked out to his patrol jeep and he asked me if I wanted to ride up front. Obviously I said yes, so we got it and started off home. He asked me a bunch of questions on the drive, only in retrospect did I realize he was trying to ascertain if I had run away from home or if there were problems at home that I was avoiding.

Me being the oblivious kid I was, just happily answered while asking what all the buttons did. This was when he let me run the lights and siren and I laughed so much I think he realized I was just a kid who forgot to call home.

When I got home, oh man was I in trouble. Mom had been out of her mind with worry and was trying to keep herself calm. She was so mad but also trying to understand that sometimes kids are forgetful and don't pay attention. So she grounded me and said I don't get any of the pizza that she ordered for dinner. Instead I would get a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a glass of water and I was to be sent to my room.

I was upset as pepperoni pizza was one of my favorite foods and I didn't do anything bad, just forgot to call home. But I sucked it up because I could see how mom was barely keeping her upset in check. So I got all huffy and stomped off to my room. She brought me my sandwich and I pretended like I was all upset by laying in bed facing away from her when she did. 

As soon as she set it down and left I got up grabbed my sandwich and pulled out a bunch of toys and played until I fell asleep. By the next morning Mom had calmed down and before she left for work she sat me down and explained that she worries about me, and that we live in the woods where anything could happen to me. She said she has to be at work and can't watch me all the time so I have to be responsible and do what's expected of me. 

From then on I think she had Josh keep an extra close eye on my and make sure I get on the bus every day. That led to him getting sucker punched while getting on the bus defending me and getting a broken nose later that year, but that's another story...

The last walk for a good dog

 My last walk with Jinx

I love dogs. I've always loved them. We grew up having dogs as pets since mom was allergic to cats. Our first dog that I remember was an Samoyed named Keeta that my mom drew a pastel drawing of that hung in our house throughout our childhood. 

The first dog that was ever mine was Sage. He was a black lab husky mix with a fluffy white curved tail that looked like a cross between a question mark and a spiral and he "followed me home" one day in a red rider wagon that I pulled him in. Our old neighbors dog had puppies and they let me have one if my parents said it was ok. 

I convinced my mom to let me keep him by pretending to be asleep with him when they came to give me an answer on whether we could keep him. He was a great mountain dog that went with Josh and I on our adventures and had a few of his own. 

The last adventure I remember was when he went missing for a week and Mom and Chuck started preparing us for the inevitable let down of losing a dog. I remember crying so hard when we thought he was gone, I was 11. Josh and I looked for him everywhere. We lived in a tiny little mountain town so there weren't many places we could look, but our back yard was a mountain so my parents assumed he had run away and gotten lost and possibly met with a mountain lion that lived in the area. 

Then one day Josh and I were playing in the front yard and he stopped and stood up and looked to the distance. He looked down South End road and saw an animal slowly limping up the street towards us and he immediately took off running. We were both screaming and crying tears of joy as we realized that it was Sage, still alive and coming home. 

When Josh reached Sage he saw that Sage was completely covered in porcupine quills and was injured and bloody. He gently reached under Sage, picked him up and carried him back to the house where he set him down gently on a towel on the couch. Mom and Chuck took him to the local Vet and after a lot of tweezing and stitching declared that other than being a little thin Sage would be just fine. 

He was fine, recovered and happy as he ever was. He was the best dog for two mountain boys and we loved him like only a boy can. Sage was part of our family for just over four years. In 1989 when Grandma got sick and Mom and Chuck decided that we were moving to California to take care of her we had no choice but to leave Sage with Wayne, my dad's band mate and friend to take care of. Mom said we would try to bring him to California eventually but we couldn't bring him right away because we'd be living with Grandma and she already had a dog and they didn't want to risk them not getting along. 

So we moved and left Sage behind. I never got to see him again. Grandma's dog Romeo was a small Cockapoo that was friendly but not as playful as Sage was. When we were teens and Grandma had passed Romeo came to live with us for a while before our Uncle Dave took him. We had always wondered how old Romeo was since we remembered him from when we were little, but then Mom let slip that technically, this was Romeo IV and that Grandma had just replaced her late dogs with exact copies right down to giving them the same name. Those were the last dogs we had in our childhood. 

While my parents did adopt another dog, KD (Karens Dog) after we had left home, we never bonded like we did with the dogs of our youth. In fact after Romeo I lived half my life before getting another dog. I was 36 the next time I adopted a dog.

I was halfway into my first relationship with Ixa (Danny) when we decided that we wanted a dog to be part of our family. We talked to our roommates at the time and they all agreed to have a dog in the house so we started going to the SPCA and looking at the dogs. We went back and forth about the breeds of dogs that we would love if we found one, for me it was the Great Dane, I'm a giant so of course I would have a giant dog. Ixa loved the smaller breeds though he had been raised in a house of Pitt Bulls so he ok with a bigger dog. 

For a few weekends we went back and forth to the SPCA looking for that special dog that would pick us and one Saturday while we were wandering around my eye was caught by a question mark white tail and I immediately fell in nostalgic love. She had Sages tail and she came up to both of us and wagged it and that was it. We adopted her that day, March 26th 2011. 

After making a long list of potential names on the white board that everyone contributed too, we landed on Jinx, and we signed the paperwork and took her home with us... Well... We tried. She was a very shy nervous pup at about a year old. She had been found out in the country wandering and was brought to the SPCA in San Francisco to be adopted out. So when we left the SPCA with her and tried to walk her home, she was scared about all the sounds and cars and busses and people. She froze and eventually we had to take a cab home with her.

Ixa spent a lot of time training her and acclimating her to life in the big city. The two things he did that I thought were the cleverest things was he wanted to get her used to the sounds of the city so he took a mini tape recorder and went outside near the bus stop and recorded a few hours of city sounds. Then when it was bed time she would go in her crate and he would put the tape on her crate so she could hear it while still feeling safe. 

She was still a little nervous going on the muni so Ixa had the brilliant idea to bring her to Dolores park and wait with her near the Muni train exit so that she got used to the big trains and when it stopped I exited the train right where they were and she was always excited to see me, so by doing that a few times she came to learn that the big loud machine would bring me to her and she stopped being afraid of it after that. 

Jinx was always a cat dog. That is to say a dog that acted more like a cat. She didn't really play or fetch, she didn't need to be next to one of us all the time. She liked to sit in her space and just watch things from a distance and she merely tolerated all the lovin we gave her. I loved cuddling with her even though she just laid there and took it. She was never overly affectionate unless Steph came over. She LOVED Steph. She got up and came to her whenever she came over, put her nuzzle on Steph and generally wanted to be near her. It was then that we realized we had adopted a lesbian dog. 

When Ixa and I lost the house and broke up, Jinx came with me. We stayed in a few different places that weren't the best for her until Steph and Jen had a room free and let us come stay with them. It was while living here that Jinx really started to engage more. She lived with me and Steph and Jen and got to play with other dogs all day, go for long walks with Jen and be around Steph all day and she was very very happy. 

When they decided to make the move to Portland and I started looking for a place to move it became very difficult to find a home that would let me bring Jinx with me. There were at lease three places I looked at that balked when I mentioned having a dog. The closer the move out date the more worried I was getting. Trying to find a place that I could keep her seemed impossible in SF. Eventually Steph and Jen and I sat down to have a conversation.

Jinx was a great barometer for Jen's dog business as she was well trained, good with people and dogs and was great at assessing a new dog client to see if that new dogs temperament would be a good fit for Jens pack walks and dog sitting. The dogs that Jen was taking to Portland with her were both elderly and persnickety and weren't the best advertisement for Jen's new Portland dog walking business. Jinx was. 

So we decided that while I looked for a new permanent home in SF, Jinx would accompany Steph and Jen to Portland and begin their life and business there. We thought that when I finally got settled that she might come back to live with me, but that took longer than we expected. By the time I finally got settled in LA she had been living with Steph and Jen for five years. Longer than she had been with Ixa and I. 

I felt bad from time to time because I made a commitment to Jinx to be her Daddy and to me, that is not something you just walk away from. I had been forced to walk away from Sage and never saw him again and to this day it still makes me sad. I didn't want that for Jinx. It eased my guilt a bit knowing that she was with two people who absolutely loved her and took her on long walks multiple times a day. she had doggy friends and spent the best years of her life joyfully running through nature. I also helped pay for monthly dog insurance so she could see a vet anytime without worry. I promised her that I would be there for her entire life, that she was my dog and I loved her. 

They moved to Portland in November of 2012 and Jinx never lived with me again. I did however go to see her around three times a year for the last thirteen years. Anytime Steph and Jen went somewhere I would fly up and stay with Jinx. The first few times I got the tap dancing happy dance, but eventually she would just notice that I showed up, sniff me, let me pet her head and then go lay back down. Ixa came to visit a bunch of times too and she allowed a bit more cuddling with him than she did with me, but when I wanted cuddles from her I just picked her up. She would just go all limp, arms out and wait for me to finish cuddling her than she would go back to her bed. 

For the last year or two she had been getting slower and slower, she lost her hearing and most of her sight, and she moved like molasses when taking her on her walks. Every now and then she got a burst of energy and she did her loping bouncing walk that I always thought was the cutest thing ever, but they got less and less frequent as time passed.

I went to see her at the beginning of this year and it was the first time I really realized how old she had gotten. She spent most days laying on her bed, didn't ever want cuddles and really only got up to eat, walk or wander aimlessly around the apartment. We all talked about end of life care and what the plan would be when it became time. Jen had several dogs previously and I trusted her to know when the time came. This meant that each visit became the possible last time. 

While this gave us time to prepare mentally, we all hoped that she would live forever. She was such a good dog that it's hard to imagine ever having such a good dog again.

Two weeks ago, Steph and Jen went on a vacation again and asked Ixa and I to come dogsit for the week. We both managed to clear our schedules and went up and stayed with Jinx for a full week. She was weak, had trouble standing and walking up stairs and needed extra assistance which I was happy to give. Hell, I even woke up extra early each morning to take her on her walks. It was a very full circle moment for both Ixa and I as we had been there for her at the beginning together and we were together with her at the end.

On my last walk with her before heading home to LA I took a few pictures of her, I wanted a really good face picture so I put my hand under her chin to get her to look up at me. She did, and then she rested her head on my hand so that I was fully supporting it. It reminded me of how she would put her head on my hand or knee right after we adopted her and it made me cry. 

We both knew the time had come around at last. A week later Steph and Jen let me and Ixa know that it was time and that she was gone. We all had a good cry about it. But she had a great life, surrounded by people who loved her. What more can anyone ask for in life.

I love you Jinx, you'll always be my dog and I'll see you again on the other side of the rainbow bridge. 

The Devastating Dance of Decades

On August 4th 2004, I went to Lazy Bear in the Russian River for the first time and met what would turn out to be the only man that ever broke my heart: Cory Howard. When we found out that we both lived in SF we made plans to hang out once back in the city. We started out as casual intimate friends for a couple years, then we both got into relationships with other people. We still hung out and when we were both single again we resumed our torrid love affair. 

Though we never defined our relationship, we each viewed it in very different ways. To me, he was beautiful, soulful, artistic, funny, passionate and someone I wanted very desperately to be with. Perhaps too desperately, as I believe he just saw me as a fuck buddy he could talk to and chill with. I was never someone he was going to date. 

I wanted him to be my boyfriend and when he caught on, he became very distant. Our hang time shrunk to almost non-existent until I felt like I had to beg him for his time. Eventually my move to LA became a real thing and so on the 10 year anniversary of our meeting, August 4th 2014, I went into the bar that he worked at and had a shot with him and wished him goodbye. The next night I went home and wrote him this letter. While I wish I had the courage to give it to him or say these things to him, I decided that he didn't need the closure that I did, and so I kept it to myself all this time. 

That was ten years ago. I've long held on to this letter with hope that I may see him again. I still have to hold back tears when I read it. He's not on social media and never had an email that I knew about, so his phone number was the only way I had to check in on him. Once I had the strength though, I deleted his phone number. He's had my same number all this time and I never heard from him again. 

So here we are, two decades in and I still think about him and still wish things had gone differently, but they didn't and I have to keep letting him go every time I think about him.

Dear Cory,

The last time you saw me… was the last time you’ll see me

By the time you read this, I’ll be gone, fleeing towards the future

Can you remember our last exchange?

Do you remember what we said or how we left it?

Did you feel anything between us?

I was gone when you turned around,

How long before you noticed? Did you notice?

 

Ten years to the day that you walked into my life

I regretfully walked out of yours

I fought long and hard against the slow fade;

I tried everything I knew to keep you interested

I willfully ignored all of your flags and signs

And accepted every interaction I could get from you

I think you kept hanging around and chatting me up

So I’d get bored and never think you the bad guy

I don’t think of you as the bad guy. Lost Love.

 

You played an experts game of keeping your distance

While allowing me close enough to know you, to love you

And while I’m a man who has a hold on my emotions,

I do have them, and they hurt when ignored or unnoticed

You had a thousand excuses and prior engagements

You were brilliant at keeping me out

And I’m sure that there were, though I just can’t remember,

Any times when you reached out to me, for anything

 

When treated so casually, how could I have fallen?

How did I fan that spark into flame?

It was your soul, and your strength and watching you talk about painting

I couldn’t speak openly around you, I just couldn’t waste a moment

Not on anything as petty and selfish as “me”, “I want” or “I need”

Every moment that I spent with you was spent being fully with you.

The rest could be dealt with on my own, later, in my head.

Where I would scream at myself for not speaking out loud

“I want you, I want to be with you, I need you, I need you to want me”

 

You walked up to me in a campground and said hi

Ten years later, and everyday, from that day to this

I have thought about you and wished…

But I can’t wish anymore.

I can’t hope anymore.

I can’t wait anymore.

I concede.

No drawn out scene.

No emotional tearful goodbye, well, not for you anyway.

Just an anonymous letter in the post.

Reflecting on ten years of friendship and love, mostly good, mostly mine.

I’ll try to think about you less, and I’ll move on to what’s next.

 

I hope I see you again

I love you

Goodbye.

Battlestations, this is not a drill

Happy Veterans Day

I've been thinking a lot today about what being a Veteran means to me now.

It was over 26 years ago that I joined the Navy. I joined in an act of desperation. I knew that my life was going downhill fast and that if I didn't do something drastic to change my situation I would end up in prison or dead. I knew that I had no discipline or organization and I had no real drive to better myself. I was 22, homeless, unemployed, angry and estranged from society. I had no sense of belonging.

So I did the most drastic thing I could think of. Signed my name and offered up my life; though doing so felt unrealistic and romantic to me at the time. I learned what integrity meant the day I left for boot camp because I made a promise, and I am only as good as my word. I learned how to be an adult, and take care of myself and stand up for myself. I learned how to fight and when to fight. I learned how important it is to care about the well being of others, and what my actions ensured for those I loved and those I'd never met.

But I also learned the unexpected burdens placed on Soldiers. In August of 1998, Osama Bin Laden bombed two of our US embassies in Africa; killing over 200 people and injuring thousands of others. This happened while my ship, the USS Shiloh, was in the Gulf of Oman on deployment. In the middle of the night our ship left the battlegroup behind and did a solo run out of the Gulf. We sounded the battlestations alarms mid-day and at 7pm the night of August 20th, we fired 13 tomahawk missiles at Afghanistan in retaliation. We remained battle ready and sped away while Pakistani planes circled us waiting to drop bombs on us should one of those missiles hit their soil  (To be clear, my battle station was the medical bay, and once the missiles left the ship, we lost all control over them - They were then being guided by the pentagon).

We made it out unscathed and several key targets were destroyed. But the mission came with this burden: innocent civilians died. Some of our intel was faulty and we destroyed a clinical research lab that provided half the country with medicines for malaria, diabetes, gonorrhea, and tuberculosis. This caused an epidemic of infectious diseases amongst the most vulnerable, the poor and the innocent civilian population. This one misplaced bomb caused a ripple effect that, over time, can be seen with a much wider perspective. 

The USS Cole, which was the same type of ship as ours took the retaliation that was meant for us the following year. 9/11 came three years after this. Two wars came after this. Millions of refugees were displaced. Civil wars began, cities and entire histories were leveled. And while there is and was nothing we as individual sailors, could have done differently, it becomes the unexpected burden that veterans have to carry. The knowledge that while serving their country and ensuring our freedoms, their actions cost innocent people their lives.

 This picture is one of those missiles leaving our ship. Is it The Missile? I don't know, who could? But it is the only photo from my time in the Navy that I have hanging in my home, right on my bedroom wall. I need to see it every day to remind myself that our actions have unforeseen consequences. That if we aren't careful with ourselves and our deeds, we can cause great, irreparable damage to others. I use it to remind myself that I fought for what I believed was just and right; freedom and equality. I still fight for what is just and right for all people because becoming a man made me realize that it's all of us or none of us. We are literally all in this together. It is the fire that was lit in me then and it burns even more brightly now.

I felt an unexpected bond with people who were once strangers that can't be duplicated any other way because of this experience. My shipmates became my family, my conscience and my best reward in the long run. So while I like to joke and say "I wouldn't do it again, but I wouldn't undo it", what I really mean is, it helped shape my very being. I am Honor, Courage and Commitment because of the Navy.

Thank you for letting me serve, and for bringing me home safe, and for all the friends I made that kept me safe. Becky, McCartney, Micah, Roy, Playmo, Roberta, Adam, BJ, Brian, Chad, James, Cody, Jeffrey, Justin

I ask you to take some time today to think about the people in your lives who have given this promise to America. Veterans have given their word to protect this country with everything that they have, including their lives. Remember to not only thank them and be there for them, but to make sure your commitment to whatever you do rises to the same level.

Happy Veterans Day

 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Operation_Infinite_Reach

https://academic.oup.com/cid/article/34/Supplement_5/S171/363964

The Flight From the Frozen Forest of Indian Hills

(me on the right in my cool kid clothes, with my brother;center and cousin;left, the following summer)

When I started 6th grade I again moved to a new school to follow the special education program as it moved each year. This year brought me closer to home than ever before. A school that my older brother Josh had just left the year before to move to Jr High. I was now a student at Parmalee Elementary School, in Indian Hills, Colorado, just three miles from home. 

Three of my major life memories happened during this school year. First, I was on flag duty the day the Challenger exploded. I remember watching it in class, being shocked and crying and then having to leave the classroom to go lower the flag to half mast. 

Second, I got my first real hardcore bully. Shawn Mackenzie and his goons. They targeted me because I was in the special-ed classes, and they made my life hell for that year. But I remember being cornered by them one day, in front of the offices and they tried to keep me from going inside, but I yanked the door so hard it pushed him off balance and I remember distinctly, hearing one of his goons say to Shawn, "watch out, he's starting to fight back". I never felt more powerful.

The third thing to happen here was probably the most impactful and life changing thing that happened in my young life that still shapes who I am today. It was here that I discovered acting. The year prior, my mom had made me come to Josh's graduation performance where I watched in amazement as he sang from the choir. And I wanted to do that too. Mrs. Johnston, my teacher somehow got it into her head that a bunch of 6th grade kids had that capability and capacity to do, for their senior show, Gilbert and Sullivan's' operetta "The Mikado". I was the Mikado. I was hooked. And the rest is history. 

(Yes, a full scale operetta about geisha's put on by 11 year old white mountain kids)

But that's not today's story... While I like to tell stories about the days that my brother almost died, today's story is one of the day's that I almost died. And it happened one winter day when I was going to school at Parmalee Elementary. It had been a normal mid-winter day, so after the last bell had rung for day I immediately went into hiding/stealth mode as I tried to make my way to the front of the school while avoiding Shawn and his goon-squad. They had started in on me as soon as I had walked into the cafeteria that day at lunch. 

He liked to get as close as he could to me so that I was cornered and so that he could use his body to cover his quick punches and pinches from any nearby teachers. I was still a runt at this point, four foot nothin, 70lbs soaking wet and fully dressed and very emotional. In other words, a bully's wet dream. Well, I was little and quick and managed to get away and get to a teacher before he could reach me again and as they separated us he whispered the words that strike fear into nerds everywhere: "after school". 

So naturally, I was trying to stealthily get to my bus without being seen while shaking in terror at every sound. Waiting for every approaching footfall to fade away. Taking my time and being invisible. So it should be no surprise to anyone that I not only missed the bus, but by the time I got to the parking lot, most of the teachers had already left as well. 

Now you kid's may not understand this, but there was a time when cell phones didn't exist. Neither did GPS to tell me where to go. Only governments had satellites, the internet hadn't been invented and there was no uber to call to take me home. But I was a rough and tumble Colorado Rocky Mountain boy and I decided that I would walk home since the bus ride didn't seem like it was that far... And I felt that for an 11 year old, I had an amazing sense of direction.

Turns out, not so amazing...

While the journey clocked in at a three mile walk, I was a young explorer out in the wilderness and as we all know, you can't discover new things if you stay on someone else's road. About half way through the gulch I look up, and from a distance, I thought I recognized the Kittredge "Mansion" that sat on the mountain right above our house. Josh and I had explored up that mountain and come across that mansion right around the same time that a rumor of a mountain lion hiding under their porch started going around town a year earlier. No correlation, I swear. 

The road began to curve away from the big house on the hill and I thought "If I just cut through this field, then over that ridge, then the Kittredge house will be just above me, then it's just a quick jog down the hill to our back yard and I'm home free!

Two things I should mention here. First, though you can see little neighborhood roads on the map that I would have come across on this trek, these are recent additions and they didn't exist then. Only the last road going up to the mansion existed at that time, though I didn't ever notice it when driving to and from school as it just looked like a tiny dirt pull off road. Second, this was in February and the ground was covered with at least two feet of snow and looked a bit more like this:

The Indian Hills Community Center board, also, what that area looks like covered in snow)

Well, it didn't go quite that well... When I got through the field that had much deeper snow that I would have guessed at first glance, I got to the tree line and entered the forest walking slowly and deep in snow over the ridge into the next small valley. 

It looks small on the map, but I was 11, and all of a sudden I was in the wilderness with no sign of humanity. I lost sight of the house on the hill and the road and began to wander around that snowy hillside for what felt like an hour. I tried to get to the highest point I could find but I must have gotten turned around somehow because I saw nothing but trees and snow and mountains everywhere I looked. 

I'm pretty sure this was where I started crying. I was shivering from the cold, I was wet and I was lost in the woods. As a kid growing up in the mountains I had heard stories of people lost in the woods getting turned around and never being found again. I also knew that when you get lost you are supposed to stay where you are and hope someone finds you.

I knew I couldn't stay where I was because it was snowy out and the sun was setting and the temperature would soon start dropping and being cold and wet, that could end very badly for me. Two things occurred to me, first I was a latchkey kid. Mom and Chuck were both at work and while Josh might be home when I got there, no one would know that I was missing for at least a couple hours. Which brought the second more terrifying thought, that no one knew where I was or where to look. No one had seen me leave school. I hadn't been on the bus. No one had seen me walking down or leaving the road. No one had seen me disappear into the forest. If I didn't find my way out. No one would see me ever again. 

(The Forest of Death in Indian Hills)

That motivated me. The terror of being lost frozen forever in the woods was enough to dry my eyes and get my feet moving again. The only trick that I knew for getting yourself out of the snow when you're lost I learned from watching "the Shining". So I looked at all the tracks I had made in the snow and was able to see one particular path of my tracks leading out of the forest, hopefully leading the way I had come. So I started backtracking my own footsteps and before too long I was back into the field and in view of the road. 

It's funny how quickly I was able to backtrack, I felt like I had been wandering the woods for hours, but it only took me less than ten minutes to find and get back to the road. Once back on the road, I quickly walked the rest of the way home, cold and wet. And I managed to get home before the sun had set. 

I was a smart boy, I loved to read and hear about explorers and go on adventures, but that was the first time I knew I had done the wrong thing. That I had made a mistake big enough to cost a life. Had I stayed scared and not moved I very well may have died right there in that snowy winter forest at the age of eleven. But I liked to read, and we had cable, so thanks to Steven King and Stanley Kubrick for scaring me for pretend so I knew how to survive for real.

(My saving grace, a still from "The Shining". Thank you Steven King!!)

Fifteen in Five: A life in motion

Fifteen homes in Five years

  (The dream home on Castro)

Since the eviction from my 10 year home on Castro Street in Nov of 2012 I bounced around a lot for the next few years. My primary address was a post office box at 584 Castro Street with Steph. Across the street from my ex-forever home.

(My mailing address for the next five years)

On the morning of the eviction, AJ came up from San Jose and helped Danny and I move all our stuff into the moving truck (with the help of some hired labor). The only thing we left behind was the spinet piano that Jack gave us. I almost killed myself moving that 500lb beast up those 31 stairs, I wasn't about to try it again. Plus, I wasn't getting a deposit back so I figured I didn't need to go the extra mile, risking possible death, in clearing the place out. 

That last night into the last morning was such a weird experience. It was just Danny and I left in the place, the power was off, we lit the place with candles and tap lights. We opened all the interior doors and saw the place as it was designed originally as a one family flat. My old bedroom would have ben the living room, Danny's old room would have been the den and then Mark's old bedroom would have been the only bedroom. The current living room would have been the dining room and the front fainting room would have also been the child's room. All the bedrooms had interior connecting doors that when opened created this very lavish upscale ambiance. What could have been...

I was an amazing home. And leaving it, Danny and I left not only our home in Castro, but we also left the relationship we had made with it. Amicably going our separate ways as friends and exes, he went back to Concord with his family with Comet. After we finished unloading the truck into three separate storage units AJ drove me and Jinx to live with him in his house on 18th street, in San Jose, where I would stay with him for about a month and a half, until Christmas.

(AJ's place in San Jose, the first time)

For Christmas 2012, our friend Chad Fox (aka: fuck-you-Chad-Fox) was going home to Cleveland to see his parents for the holidays and wouldn't be back until the new year. So Danny and I and our two dogs, Comet and Jinx, leapt at the opportunity to stay at his place on Romolo, a cool converted whorehouse in a back alley in North Beach for two weeks over Christmas. Yes, it really did used to be a whorehouse. 

(Chad Fox's converted whorehouse apartment in North Beach)

As I had a well paying job at the moment and wasn't having any luck looking at rooms to rent, I found a posh monthly hotel in the tenderloin that cost me around $350 a week. I moved there from North Beach and stayed there until April of 2013. The downside, no dogs allowed. Luckily Danny was able to take Jinx to Concord with him until I found a place. 

   (The bougie hotel in the Tenderloin)

I realized what I was spending on the weekly hotel would make it impossible to save for a new place if I kept staying there. I started putting my feelers out and seeing if the room rental market had changed at all. And just as luck would have it, my best lady friend and her wife had just made the decision to make the move to Portland. 

No, they weren't taking me with them to Portland, however, they did recognize that they had an extra room. And that a little extra money and time would help them in the move, so, they offered me their spare room for the six months that they were going to use to make the move. So Jinx and I moved into "The Whorehouse" for the spring and summer. This was at 25th and Bryant, in the heart of the Mission District. 

(Steph and Jen's place "the Whorehouse" in the Mission)

This was one of the most amazing and healing experiences of my life. Not only did I have space, I had my dog, a job, room to recover from losing a home and partner at the same time. And I learned what it feels like to be truly pampered. I didn't know this about her until I moved in with her, but Steph... is the epitome of the good southern Baptist housewife. In the sense that no matter what she had going on with her day or night (and she was a BUSY woman). She always made breakfast for us in the mornings. And she always had dinner options on the ready when you got home and the martini glasses chilling in the fridge. She fed me, helped me get into classes, pushed my career forward and helped rebuild my confidence. And then, just like that, they were gone to Portland.

Here is where I had to make the hardest decision. In all my searching for a place, each and every one of them; No pets, on the lease. Already too many pets in the house. Place after place after place, I couldn't get a home or room of my own and keep my dog.  I love Jinx, and still do, but I had to make the better decision for both her and I. So when Jen asked if they could take Jinx to Portland with them and use her to start up their dog walking business. It seemed like the best option.

It was, by the way. Jinx loved Steph from the first moment they met the day Danny and I adopted her from the SPCA. Much more than she ever loved me, she was clearly a lesbian dog cuz she only ever had eyes for Steph. Also, she was in the prime of her life moving to a place where she could spend hours every day outside running with other dogs. So, Steph and I became co-parents and Jinx went to live with them.

(Liz and Shelly's place on Church and 14th)

After they moved to Portland I moved to Liz and Shelly's place at Church and Market for three months. I knew them from chorus and acting class. And I had just done Steph's first play with Liz. When that three months was up, I still hadn't been able to find a permanent place of my own in SF. They had only agreed to let me stay for a short time, and I didn't want to inconvenience friends that had offered help. 

So I found an SRO in the mission and moved in. If you're not familiar, SRO means Single Renter Occupancy. They are essentially cheap, low frills, single person rooms with shared bathrooms in the hallway. Much like a college dorm, no closets, a bed, a table, a chair a mini fridge and a microwave. You won't find an SRO that you would want to stay in. They aren't known for being nice places. The are mostly filled with homeless people, drug addicts, crazy people and people barely hanging on. I didn't feel like I was in that situation, but there I was renting a room. 

(The scary shady SRO at Mission and 16th)

This was in December of 2014. I was working every day, taking the Bart to Mission and then spending the nights anywhere other than the SRO. Luckily this place was just a few short blocks from my storage unit, which I had set up with a chair and table so I could go hang out there and cull or read. I can't tell you how many back and forth trips I made from the SRO to storage and back. 

(The nicer SRO in North Beach a block from the Transamerica building)

Oh, the other fun thing about SRO's is that in order for them to maintain their status as an SRO in SF, no one can stay for more than three weeks at a time. After three weeks you have to check out and you can't check back in for seven days. So I found a much nicer (and more expensive) SRO in North Beach and I and bounced between the two places for the next few months. There was a week in there that I stayed in Berkeley at Don and Jeff's dog-sitting while they were on vacation.  Another week or two in Portland with Steph and Jen both babysitting Jinx and Steph while the latter recovered from surgery. Then when I got back, in late Mar of 2015 Larry Turner generously offered me his spare room for a month so I could help out around the house and watch the kids in his Balboa Park house. 

(Larry and the kid's house in Balboa Park)

Right around the time I was at Larry's I got the job at Nextdoor. With that I was finally able to afford a deposit again. and in June of that year I moved to downtown Berkeley, to live with Rev. Annie and her family and rent out the room of her son who had just left to college. They had the most amazing backyard, and pet's that were so much fun. It was a wonderful home that I was warmly welcomed into. We cooked for each other, had game nights and all in all I was able to get my feet back under me.

(Reverend Annie's home in downtown Berkeley)

Around December of that year I started looking at places back in the city, so I could cut my commute time and cost down a bit and because I could afford to find a place that better fit me. I put an ad on Craigslist about myself and what I was looking for in a place and out of some sort of cosmic alignment, a woman named Angie reached out and said she might have a spot for me. 

(My room with no windows and bright orange walls)

The spot was a converted garage in her Glen Park home that had two bedrooms with big closets, a shower bathroom and a kitchenette. The only downside as she pointed out was that there was only one window in the entire place, and it was in the bathroom. The room was painted white and neon orange, so surprisingly, it didn't feel dark. It was perfect for me. And the kid who was living in the front room already felt like someone I'd known for a while. Ruben was a fun guy and I enjoyed living there. I stayed for nine months. January to September of 2016. 

(The house in Glen Park. I lived behind the big red doors)

While working at Nextdoor I had been saving up so that I could join SAG and by the beginning of summer of that year, I'd done it and I'd joined SAG. This was the last step in my San Francisco plan to advance my acting career before moving to LA. My managers at Nextdoor even said I could keep my job and go fully remote. So in October I moved out of Glen Park and moved back to San Jose with AJ and commuted in to the office two or three days a week for two months and in December of 2016 I made the move. San Jose to Hollywood, Los Angeles. 

(AJ's place in San Jose, the second time. His unit was actually in the back of the building)

During the four years between the eviction and the move to LA, I had slowly over time, gotten rid of so much stuff. I moved out of a four bedroom house and filled three 6x10 storage units in 2012. And by the time I started packing the U-Haul towards LA I had less than 20 boxes, a couple suitcases and a bunch of art. I had winnowed down so much that I was really surprised by how little I had left. 

Then out of nowhere, in the week that I was moving, I was reminded that I still had my three piece red leather sofa set and Grace was ready to buy her own so I could take it with me. And then Nextdoor also moved their office that week and they said we could take anything we wanted (and they hoped we would) so I got a couple IKEA pieces, a standing desk, two armchairs and an ottoman and a heavy duty microwave. SO wherever I was landing in LA, I had a full set of furniture. Except a bed. 

Lucky for me, Chris had a bed that I could buy. Who is Chris you ask? Why, you've already met him. Chris was introduced in my blog post Roommates: A Home on Castro. He was the first roommate I picked when I got the landlord of that house to make me the sole tenant on the lease. Chris was one of my favorite roommates of all time. Nothing phased him, he was like a total stoner, unless he smoked pot, then he was moderately active. He was a friend who I missed and he had a room in his place on Hollywood Blvd. 

(Hollywood Boulevard here I am! The first floor to the right of the door)

Chris and I technically shared that place for seven months, December to June of 2017. I say technically because for the first couple months he was there off and on as he was seeing a new beaux and they spent a lot of time at his place. In March, AJ decided he was ready to leave the bay area and go back to the beach in So Cal. So I asked Chris and he was happy to let AJ have his room as he and his boyfriend had decided to move in together.

So while he gave his notice to the landlord, we all hoped that the landlord would just sign a new lease with me as I was already living there. Unfortunately, the landlord was trying to retire and places are easier to sell if they don't already have tenants so he declined and AJ and I started looking for a place to live. 

AJ, being from LA drove us around to all the neighborhoods that he thought I'd like. He planned on moving to Palm Springs, so we were really only looking for me. WeHo: too expensive, Silverlake: nice but hipsterish. Then he saw an ad for a place in Koreatown and figured it was a nice old brick building, in the miracle mile and we might as well take a look. We came to see the place, it was on South Gramercy Pl and was a beautiful old brick building with white trim. We went to the call box and rang. And rang... and rang and rang. No answer. We waited for about 30 minutes and no one ever answered. We got back in the car all huffy and at that moment AJ happened to look up. 

(My current home on South Gramercy Place)

Across the street from the brick building was another tall old concrete apartment building. Steepled rooves with rod iron spindles and weathervanes, with trees and an awning and plants creeping up the outside front walls. It looked like a building you'd see off the park in New York. And on the side of the building was a sign that said apartments and gave the phone number. We looked at each other and I called the number. 

"Hello, who's this?" a raspy lady with a smokers voice and a New Yorkers attitude asked. 

"Hi, my name is Shane and I saw the sign on the building and was wondering if you had any available unit's that I could look at."

"Yeah, fine, come up. I'm on the fourth floor, Peggy."

She buzzed us in and we went up to her apartment. Miss Peggy is who the word "spitfire" was made for. She was an eighty something, tough as nails, no bullshit type of lady who'd been doin this since before I was a twinkle in my daddy's eye. She took us through two apartments, the two bedroom and the one bedroom. While the two bedroom was nice, AJ wasn't planning on staying, so we looked at the one bedroom and as soon as I entered the living room I saw that beautiful old brick building across the street through trees that reached just up to my windows and I saw all the delicate wainscoting on the living room wall, I knew I was home. 

I must have gasped or something, cuz AJ snapped his neck towards me, looked at me and immediately went into negotiation mode. Surprisingly there was no need. 

"I don't do any of that new fangled internet shit. I ain't gonna run your credit. If I like you I'll rent to you and that's the way I always done it. I like you, you want the place? Done."

We filled out the paperwork, I put down the money and she gave me the keys. It was done in less than 15 minutes. I finally had a home again. From November of 2012 to June of 2017, just under five years,  I had lived at fifteen different addresses. I spent five years desperately clinging to the city that I loved so much. The City that had given me life and opportunity and dreams and joy. San Francisco is not only the place I spent the longest portion of my life, it's also the place I mean when I say "home". And it will always be thus.

(the view from the top of Dolores Park, aka, the gay beach of SF)

Broke-Ass Stuart was right in his poem "Rent Control is a Golden Handcuff", he says:

"Living in San Francisco and having rent control has become a sort of golden handcuff if you ever need to leave, or get evicted, you have to essentially trade in your San Francisco citizenship. The Visigoths are at the gate and they will gladly take your place."

There is a word in Welsh that I always felt best describes how I feel about San Francisco. "Hiraeth"; it is a homesickness or longing for place that no longer exists or only exists in memory. 

(Took this on the corner of Market and Noe on one of my trips home)

In June of 2017 I moved into my current apartment on Gramercy Pl in Koreatown. Here, I decided that I would unpack, put the art up on the walls, and stay for a while. It's been six years so far. That makes this the second longest home that I've lived in after the ten years on Castro. And I've made so many amazing memories here and hope to make many more. 

(Take a tour with me!)